


You could never hurt me

by VanillaMostly



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaMostly/pseuds/VanillaMostly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Joffrey thinks of his new betrothed. Takes place during ASoS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You could never hurt me

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: do not own.
> 
> Am currently obsessed with the enigma that is Margaery Tyrell... but before trying to get into her head I thought it'd be interesting to try Joffrey's. xD
> 
> I'm afraid he came off too smart and a bit ambitious... hmm, oh well.

"...and she is to be your lady wife..."

Joffrey, whose mind had been drifting elsewhere, tuned back into his mother's speech at the word _wife_.  Everything his mother liked to discuss during these "private talks" bored him to death except this. Well, weddings weren't so interesting to Joffrey - he wasn't a prissy wench, after all - but the idea of marrying stupid little Sansa Stark and taking her precious maidenhood was quite exciting.

"...tomorrow in court, you must greet her brothers and father, Lord Mace Tyrell, and accept the hand of Lady Margaery that they offer to you..."

_Wait... what?_ His daydreams of Sansa Stark crying naked beneath him during their bedding rudely interrupted, Joffrey blurted in confusion, "But my wife is Sansa Stark."

All at once, he knew he said the wrong thing. The fury in his mother's blue eyes was so evident that Joffrey nearly flinched. "Fool! Have you not been listening to a word I've been saying? How do you expect to rule over seven kingdoms if you can't even focus your attention span for _one minute?_ "

Joffrey glanced at the Kingsguard members sullenly. Of course, not one of them acted like they heard the Queen Regent yelling, standing stony-faced at the closed door, and anyway, Joffrey had the power to off any of them for doing so much as smirk... but fact was fact. His mother was making him look bad.

Sometimes he really hated his mother. She could be such an annoying old hag.

But hag or not, Joffrey knew it wasn't in his favor to make his mother mad.  She was the one everyone listened to, not Joffrey- which was ridiculous. You'd think people could tell he wasn't Tommen in diapers anymore. "Forgive me, Mother," said Joffrey, protruding his lower lip just so and casting his eyes downward. "I am listening." 

Peeking through his lashes, he saw his mother visibly relax back into her chair. Too easy.

"I'll say it once more, Joffrey," said his mother, now sounding more tired than angry. "Sansa Stark is history.  You must not sully our Lannister name with hers ever again. You new betrothed is Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden.  You will be pleased - her beauty is worth ten of the Stark girl's."

Watching his mother carefully, Joffrey noticed that suddenly she would not quite meet his gaze. He narrowed his eyes. "And?"

"She is the widow of Renly Baratheon," said his mother, more quickly than usual.

"I don't want my uncle's whore."

His mother pierced him with another glare, but Joffrey just glared back this time.  He had spoken the truth and everyone knew it, even his mother. Besides, it wasn't like this Margaery was in the room right now.

"Their marriage was never consummated. Margaery is a maiden yet."

"How do you know?"

His mother chose to ignore this. "That is not what's important here. What's important is your wedding to Margaery Tyrell shall seal the the south to us. With this, victory shall be yours. You are three-and-ten, it's time you thought like a king."

"I _do_ think like a king," snapped Joffrey.

His mother looked at him and slowly, she smiled. "That's right, my clever boy." She reached over to stroke his hair. He slapped her hand away.

" _Your Grace_ ," he corrected.

"Your Grace," amended his mother, but she was still smiling in a way that Joffrey didn't like.  It was a smile hiding her desire to laugh at him. _Only a few years more, and then I'll be king for real and we'll see who's laughing then._ Yes, when he was king, he shall have it all. Everyone in Westeros, _and_ Dorne, _and_ the Free Cities - and the wildlings too, why not - bowing to Joffrey the Great at his throne... his mother cowering before him, begging for mercy... a beautiful queen on his side... No, _more_ than one beautiful queen. _You think you can escape, Sansa Stark. You may think._

Resurfacing from his thoughts, he smiled as well. "As you wish, Mother," he said, "I shall marry Margaery Tyrell." _I shall play by your rules. For now._

\--

She was certainly attractive in a fresh, innocent way. Her skin was smooth and creamy, her cheeks rosy and dimpled, and her voice soft and soothing. Her figure wasn't unpleasant, either, lithe and slender with all the right curves in her pale green dress. While she wasn't as striking as Sansa Stark or, say, Joffrey's mother, she looked every inch the radiant princess, the maiden of every lad's dreams.

But Joffrey wasn't sure if he liked her.

He couldn't put his finger on it.  There was nothing wrong in her actions or manners. She was poised, graceful and elegant in every movement, whether waving to the smallfolk on horseback or sinking into a curtsy. At the welcome banquet, Joffrey's grandfather suggested they sit together, and Margaery even blushed prettily as Joffrey offered her his arm.

Actually, Joffrey was glad for the opportunity to observe Margaery up close. Something still bothered him about her. He wondered if it was because Margaery was three years older, but she didn't act like it.  In fact, she had done nothing so far but compliment him and listen admiringly to his plans as king... as a lady should.

So what was wrong?

During the final course of dinner, she caught him looking and smiled. "What is it, Your Grace?" she asked, dabbing her mouth primly.

Joffrey looked into her brown eyes, which were shy and gentle. She was perfect.

_That's it,_ he realized.  She was too perfect, and it was boring. What he needed was to see her flustered and scared- like Sansa Stark with her flushed cheeks and eyes on the verge of tears. That was the sort of look Joffrey liked best.

But he wasn't stupid; he knew he couldn't do anything to jeopardize her opinion of him before the wedding.  Still... that didn't mean a test wasn't in order.

So very slightly, Joffrey leaned in. He smelled Margaery Tyrell's perfume, a sweet scent. _And even sweeter when she bleeds._ "I heard what happened to Uncle Renly. I'm sorry for your loss."

"You are kind, Your Grace."

"Did you love him?"

"Your uncle was good to me, and I cherish the times we had together, but the past is past. I mourn for him, but I could not wish for a greater honor than to be yours, Your Grace."

She delivered the reply very well, not even a blink to let anything slip, and her expression was a flawless balance of sorrow and joy. Joffrey suppressed a grin. She was good, but not good enough.

"You _mourn_ for him," he repeated in a low voice. "He led an army intending to steal my crown. He spread disgusting lies about my mother and me.  Was such a man worthy to be mourned?"

Margaery Tyrell paused in drinking from her cup. Around them, the music continued while laughter and conversation floated about. She turned to him. "Greed is a powerful thing. I'm afraid it consumed Lord Renly as it often consumes weaker men. He was not so strong as you are, Your Grace," she said. Here her voice trembled, at the same growing louder. "I beseech you, your Grace... pardon Lord Renly's mistakes, for his life is lost and all souls deserve to rest in peace evermore." Her eyes were shining.

_She_ is _good_. By now, the music had gone into a lapse and all heads were turned this way.  Joffrey could feel his grandfather's disapproving eyes on him - no doubt Joffrey was in tonight for a scolding on making his future queen cry.

Acting like he didn't notice their stares, Joffrey put a hand over Margaery's. "I understand, my love. You may gladly have my pardon and my apology for saddening you."

"Thank you, Your Grace," said Margaery through a watery smile, "and please don't mind my tears. I am just being silly, as girls tend to be."

A few people laughed, and just like that, the tension in the atmosphere dissolved away. Within a few moments the music had started up again and so had the chattering, and Margaery was smiling with not even a redness around the eyes to imply she had been crying.

Yet if there was one thing Joffrey would never do, it was to back down. His hand still on top of Margaery's, Joffrey wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed.  Hard.  Now he saw it: the flicker of pain that crossed her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, removing his hand and adopting a look of horror, "did I hurt you?"

He waited for Margaery to glance at him in suspicion, or for her smile to waver in uncertainty, as Sansa Stark would. But that was not a reaction he got.  Instead, Margaery laid _her_ hand against his and _she_ leaned forward, close enough for him to count her dark lashes. "Your Grace could never hurt me," she answered, her voice as gentle as a caress.

Joffrey felt a chill, which must be due to the cold air. For sure it wasn't because he was afraid of _her_.


End file.
